GreenGrenade

The Corrigan School for Advanced Learning and Development (A DC School RP)

@FacePunch I'm sorry, I'm sorry, jeez. I'll work on it. Get off my case, mum.

EDIT: I took the liberty of posting. That's what you get for being offline, sucker.

The Corrigan School for Advanced Learning and Development (A DC School RP)

---

---

---

31st October, 2025

---

It happened fast, faster than he could register. S’tann had fallen in pain when Andy flared up, his eyes wide in pain; that much was to be expected. But then he’d started speaking in a language unfamiliar to Andy’s ears, fear adding to his agony, backing up against the mess hall’s wall as he tried to regain his footing – the first sign of diplomacy gone wrong. Then Mari flew in, as impulsive as ever, hooking the Martian to the ground, and for a moment, Andy thought that he would stay there.

He was wrong.

The way S’tann fought back was brutal, fuelled by an animalistic rage that Andy had never seen in the Martian before. In two swift moves he took her down, unleashing blow after blow of destructive power. Just when it looked like he was going to kill her – just when Andy had the thought of doing something – someone from the crowd leapt into the fray, tackling S’tann to the ground, only to be thrown away like a ragdoll by a child throwing a tantrum.

Before he could feel sorry for Mari’s saviour, before he could be thankful, a voice he knew erupted from him behind him. Its owner was engulfed in purple flame, a stark contrast to his golden-orange glow, and her gaze told of nothing but blame and contempt. “What are you doing?” yelled Nora Norwich, “What did you do?!”

She was angry at him. Why was she angry at him? He’d done nothing to her. She should be focusing on S’tann, who had battered Mari like she was nothing but a punching bag, S'tann, who had just moments before tried to – S’tann. Andy’s eyes widened in realisation. “Nora, I – ”

He couldn’t finish his sentence, though. A blast of wind, strong and forceful, pushed him backwards, forcing him to take a step to regain his balance. In front him stood Kieran, S’tann’s fist in his hand, the Kryptonian lecturing him, just as Andy had but a few moments ago. He had no doubt that if Kieran hadn’t been there to stop S’tann, he would be dead meat – the hole in his chest making his punctured lungs look like a scrape on his shins.

Eyes sweeping over the cafeteria, he said, “Kieran, thank you,” just loud enough for the Kryptonian to hear, before he caught sight of Mari, now joined by Freddie. Oh, thank god, Freddie, you beautiful Brit, he thought, walking over to him with painful steps. Kieran had this. He didn’t need any help. “Freddie,” Andy called out, wheezing. As he arrived he took notice of an unfamiliar face, blond and undisputedly lost. A new guy. Great. Of all the times... “Uh – sup,” he managed to say, little more than a gasp, the pain now invading his body. Heatless fire still covering his lower body, he collapsed onto his knees, kneeling next to Mari. “Don’t mind me,” he wheezed, “I’ll just stay here.” He closed his eyes. “Goddammit, I’m sorry. This is my fault.” Then he opened them, looking at Freddie, his mouth shaped into a weak smirk. “So… How’s your morning been?”

The Corrigan School for Advanced Learning and Development (A DC School RP)

I won't be able to post until I get home later tonight, but I want Kieran to catch S'tann's fist.

@King Kindred

That's okay. I could just leave it to you guys and post in the aftermath. Andy did say that he wasn't going to fight S'tann (granted, that was before Mari got involved). All I was going to have happen in my post was Andy go, "Damn it, S'tann", then fire up for a moment before checking on Mari.

The Corrigan School for Advanced Learning and Development (A DC School RP)

Damn it. Andy's gonna have to go Super Saiyan on S'tann's ass.

Also, great posts.

And I'll try to get one in this morning – it'll be a short one, though – I won't be able to write for the next five or so days.

The Corrigan School for Advanced Learning and Development (A DC School RP)

---

---

---

31st October, 2025

---

S’tann S’tonn. Martian. Manhunter. Nephew to the Martian Manhunter. Hates everyone. Very competitive. Extremely aggressive. Shares a dorm with Alex Luthor. Totally has the hots for Mari. Has the entire opposite for anything to do with fire. Hates the Earth. Is determined to make the entirety of the school hate him.

Oh, yeah. And a complete and utter dickwad.

Andy’s chest hurt. Something kept stabbing at his lungs every time he took a breath. His back felt like Batman’s after Bane had broken it. His cheek stung, burned, a feeling that was unfamiliar to him, and his vision threatened to give out to the black that spread from the corners of his eyes. Slowly, shakily, he got up onto his feet, staring at the Martian with a shocked rage that threatened to match the hatred his assailant was sending his way. There was no longer fire blazing around his head. His skull mask, a cheap thing he’d bought for five dollars, was torn where S’tann had smacked him. With pained effort, he removed it, tossing it carelessly onto the floor, an afterthought. The crowd that had gathered around them, too, was an afterthought. All of his focus was on S’tann.

“Do you know,” he gasped, “Why I pick on you so much, Stan?” He paused, breathing heavy, painful breaths, each time his lungs getting poked by what he assumed were his ribs. “Why I annoy you? Why I never seem to leave you alone?” He staggered forward, hand clutching his side. “I can tell you… right now… that it’s not because you’re a Martian. It’s not because fire hurts you so much. And believe it… or not, it’s not because I don’t like you. Do you want to hear my secret, Stan? Do you?” His eyes bore into his rival’s. “It’s because you make it so damned easy.

“You’re so caught up with hating everyone, with believing that you’re better than us, that you’ll do everything in your power to maintain that illusion. The tiniest thing gets a rise out of you. All I have to do is raise an eyebrow in your direction and you go apeshit. So, yeah, I may be the ‘bane of your existence’. But only because you’re too busy trying to be everyone else’s.” Andy paused, wincing. It hurt, talking. But he wasn’t about to stop. Not until he was done. “And you know what really pisses me off about you?” A tremor entered his voice. He was but a few inches away from S’tann now. “You could be the best of us. You could be the guy that leads us when we’re Titans. When we’re Leaguers. You keep saying how you’re better than all of us, but you don’t realise that if you just shut it and be, it’ll actually be true. You could be every bit the hero your uncle is. Every bit the hero your cousin is, and Superman is, and Batman is. So why the fuck aren’t you?” Now he was shoving S’tann at the end of every sentence, ignoring the pain in his side. “And now, you pick a fight with me. I have a little joke, nowhere near as bad as ones I’ve had in the past, and you pick a fight with me. You pick. A fight. With me.” He was glowing with heat. His skin was a bright orange, his veins brighter still, his eyes burning as bright as the sun. “And why? Because there’s a little room-temperature fire going on the top of my head. Well, I hate to break it to you, big guy, but that isn’t the furthest I can go. I’m not just another pyrokinetic that can shoot fire from his hands. I control solar energy, S’tann. That bright ball up in the sky? It’s me. I’m it. I am fire.”

With that, he let the bright flame engulf him, an aura of orange, almost golden fire blazing around his figure, incinerating his costume, leaving nothing but bare skin. He reduced it to a tendril, wrapping it around his lower body, covering his privates with the scorching flame. The sweat that tried to trickle down his forehead evaporated upon exiting its pores. The blood that threatened to trickle out of his nose did the same. His well-defined figure glowed magnificently in the mess hall, bright, exhuming a boiling heat that made everyone in the building sweat like pigs.

“But I’m not going to fight you, S’tann. I don’t want to.” He reduced the tendril that covered his vitals’ temperature, as cold as he could make it, trying to lessen the effect it would have on the Martian. “So take your best shot. I hope it’s worth it.”

The Corrigan School for Advanced Learning and Development (A DC School RP)

Welp, that escalated quickly.

I like it.

VIGILANCE: Sanctuary

Aaaaand posted.

VIGILANCE: Sanctuary

---

Cajun Quarter, Pointe Bordeaux

March 18, 2016

---

^{A collab with @Hillan.}

He was out of the hotel almost as soon as he got there; not a hard thing to do when all of your worldly possessions fit into a duffle bag the size of a moderately sized dog. Clothes, his Mindjack outfit, and his gun. That’s all Gareth had in there. That’s all he needed.

He stopped by a small retail store across the street, family owned, like Serenade, for an umbrella. He didn’t mind getting wet, but the rain was getting decidedly heavier, and Leah was bound to have thrown a fit if he let himself catch a cold in favour of a little refreshment.

With his own personal shelter, he began his search for the convoy. The logical place to look would be the outskirts of the city; entering it would have threatened the safety of everyone in the convoy, and seeing how there had yet to be an uproar amongst the people of Pointe Bordeaux, it was safe to assume that they were indeed yet to enter. That was, of course, considering that Gareth's hunch was true. It wasn't often that one such as his turned out to be, no matter how sure of it he felt, and so he walked down the sidewalk from the store, hoping for his wife's sake that the convoy would be there for him to find.

The sound of a scuffle stopped him in his tracks, coming from an alley up ahead. Pedestrians passed it without a second glance, their eyes fixed firmly on the sidewalk in front of them. Unlike them, Gareth didn't hesitate. He walked to the alley, curiosity and concern overcoming him.

Four thugs were kicking a man on the ground. He looked almost homeless, his unshaven beard wild and unkempt. He was curled up, keeping his knees high and tightly together, his hands protecting his head as the kicks connected with his chest and back. The four thugs stomped and kicked him, unrelenting, eager to deliver some punishment. The man leaning against the wall, their leader, Gareth assumed, whistled, holding his hand up. One of the thugs picked the man off the ground and pushed him against the wall, holding his forearm against his throat, forcing his victim to stand on the tips of his toes. The man eyed the thug while wheezing. "Come... On, G."

The leader, G, walked over to him and put his hand to his own ear, acting coy. "What, what was dat, Marcus? Can't hear you, you gotta speak up." He punched Marcus in the gut, the air escaping his lungs.

Gareth had seen enough situations like this during his time battling the Zerilli Syndicate to know what this was: the bearded man owed these guys some money, and he'd failed to pay up. Three thugs were standing in a sort of semicircle around G and their colleague, observing the beatdown with a smile on their lips. They didn't look like regular thugs, though – the way they'd hit the bearded man, they knew exactly where would cause the most pain. No, they were trained; former military, maybe; definitely private security. Okay, thought Gar. They're like Zerilli's men.

He'd rained hell on Zerilli's men for three years. He could handle a few seconds with these guys.

Calmly, he placed his duffle bag at the alley's entrance and closed his umbrella, clutching it in both hands as he walked towards the thugs. There were two directly in front of him, the other one standing against the right wall. The one furthest from him, appearing in his late thirties, saw him, his head jerking in his direction in surprise. He managed, "Who the hell –" before the handle of Gareth's umbrella smashed into his colleague's left temple, sending him crumpling towards the ground. Knowing that they would be on him within seconds, Gar whipped the tip of the umbrella towards the other thug closest to him, an audible crack sounding as it broke against the back of his head. Discarding the umbrella on the ground, Gareth turned just in time to see the third thug's fist smack into his face.

With two of his thugs down, the man in charge grimaced, cursing under his breath. "Who the fuck are you?" the question rang.

Held against the wall, the bearded man, Marcus, felt the grip around his neck loosen as the biggest thug, the one holding him, paid attention to Gareth, dropping his friends like flies. He hissed with a rough voice, "None of your business, buddy," which was promptly met by another punch in the gut. "Seriously.. I.. Uhmpf, I've got this." Yet another punch met him, knocking the air out of his lungs as he squirmed against the wall.

The leader turned to Gareth and grinned. "This is none of your business. Shame you had to go and do that, looks like I'll be dumpin two' bodies in tha river." At that, he nodded at the thugs at his side holding Marcus, who promptly let go of the drunk, who in turn slid down the wall, catching his breath. The two remaining thugs headed for Gareth, one of them pulling out a switchblade.

The one with the switchblade rushed Gareth, stabbing wildly at his neck, chest and armpit, giving him no time to think – he executed a crescent kick to the thug's wrist, intending to disarm him, but it only glanced off his arm, momentarily ending the plethora of stabs, giving Gareth an opening, albeit a dangerous one. With no time to lose, he got in close to his would-be stabber, elbowing him across the face, simultaneously grabbing hold of his knife hand with his other hand. With the thug dazed, he placed his free hand beneath his armpit, turning into the thug, lifting him up onto his back and twisting, throwing him onto the ground. The knife clattered across the alley, no longer a danger. Unwilling to give the thug any time to get up, Gareth punched him in the nose, hard and fast, blood bursting as it broke, knocking him out as he lay on the concrete.

While catching his breath, Marcus watched the fight, as if he was trying to figure out where Gareth learned to fight, like he was studying him, his eyes intrigued. He reacted with a smirk when the knife-armed thug was disarmed and knocked out by his saviour. The thug leader's attention turned to Gareth, his hand scrambling into his pocket, and the last and biggest thug lumbered towards Gareth. Marcus watched with interest, climbing onto his knees and then his feet, leaning against the wall. Holding his side, he bowed forward, coughing up blood. The thug leader looked at him. "Once we're done with this freak, we'll talk about your 'payment plan', Marcus," he said, reaching for the .44 snub-nosed revolver he kept in his inner pocket. “Jones, get ‘im.”

Gareth felt the air rush above his head as he ducked away from Jones' right cross, a powerful punch that would no doubt have taken his head off had he let it connect. Jones was a big man, muscular, his punches precise and strong, executed with great technique. If Gareth had to guess, he was a former fighter of some sort; maybe a boxer. He was keeping him on his toes, never relenting, sending one punch after another, each one as powerful as the last, forcing Gar to keep dodging as he searched for an opening. Just as he thought he found one, his head exploded with pain, his vision dimming as he lost control of his legs, falling to the ground. Through the pain he managed to register that he'd been kicked, a devastating roundhouse to the head knocking his senses out of him. A stray thought, flitting through the oblivion that threatened to overcome him, concluded that no boxer would be able to do that. Another recalled watching a UFC match a few years ago, before Leah had died, between Cain Velasquez and a Randy Jones... Oh, thought Gareth, daggers stabbing into his brain as he tried to get up. Oh.

Somewhere in the real world, his eyes caught sight of Jones' knee descending upon his face, and, whether through luck or survival instinct, he managed to work through the pain in his head, rolling out of the way before it was crushed. As he slowly stumbled onto his feet, Jones was quick to recover from hitting concrete, moving in to attack Gareth with a barrage of punches. Recalling the fight he'd watched between Velasquez and Jones, Gar remembered a habit of the latter's: he liked to finish his combinations with a right hook. As he desperately tried to dodge away from Jones' swings, he found that this was still the case, and he found himself presented with a variety of openings previously unseen to him. For every hook Gareth ducked and delivered a body rip to Jones' ribs, hitting the same spot each time. After a few hits, Jones began getting sloppy, annoyed, dropping his guard every time Gareth hit him in an attempt to get him back. Gareth responded with yet more punches, following up the body rip to the ribs with one to the stomach, a hook to the face and an uppercut to the chin. Despite Gar's predictable combination, Jones didn't seem to notice, focused entirely on landing a hit – so much so that before long, he dropped his guard entirely, his blows becoming more and more erratic. After what felt like ages, Gareth finally landed the knockout blow, an uppercut that sent Jones collapsing onto his back. Gasping for air, Gareth leant against the wall, feeling his balance momentarily go out. He was concussed. That roundhouse kick had done a number on him.

In his recovery, he failed to notice the revolver that the thug leader had pointed at him. He made to pull the trigger when the gun exploded in his hand, sending shrapnel into his arm, a pain filled cry escaping him as he held his bleeding hand. "FUCK!"

Marcus' eyes turned back from their emerald colour as he finally climbed onto his feet, holding his side. He walked over to the thug leader, holding his hand. "See, Gambit, now you done gone did it. Should probably call the cops and get an ambulance over here. You'll lose your hand, else."

"Agh, fuck you!" Gambit shouted, holding his hand in agony.

Marcus walked towards Gareth, patting him on the shoulder, before extending his hand to help him up from his position against the wall. "You owe me one," the drunk said, staggering out of the alley, towards where his car was parked. "I need a beer.." his words echoed as he walked about thirty feet before collapsing onto his knees again, spitting blood.

Gareth stumbled over to his fallen saviour, grimacing at the pain shooting through his head as he did so. Lifting one of Marcus’ arms over his shoulders, he stood up with a grunt, helping him stand back up. “The way I see it…” he grimaced once more, “We’re even.” He began walking out of the alley, half-carrying, half-limping along with Marcus, stopping only to reclaim his duffle bag. “I’m Gareth. Gareth Corrigan.” He gave his companion a brief smile. “So you’re a hyperhuman too, huh?”

VIGILANCE: Sanctuary

There is an art to getting a character sheet up and accepted before the IC starts. I have concluded that this art is known as 'not being in full-time employment and instead being a lazy bum-ass student'.

So it goes.

@Roman

I can confirm this.

VIGILANCE: Sanctuary

<Snipped quote by Tyler>
I suppose I could get on that.

@GreenGrenade You wanna do a collab?

@Hillan

Sure thing. What do you want to do it on?